


Fast Car

by pleaseenteryourusernamehere



Category: Ocean's (Movies), Ocean's 8
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Nostalgia, Tbh has no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleaseenteryourusernamehere/pseuds/pleaseenteryourusernamehere
Summary: Debbie, Lou, and a baby blue 1969 Plymouth Roadrunner. Loosely based off the song "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman.





	Fast Car

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all the sweet comments about the second chapter of "Tell Her"! For those of you who left prompts in the comments, I am piecing together stories right now, I just got suddenly inspired to write this because I've never written a songfic before and I wanted to try it out. Also, if you don’t know the song “Fast Car,” you MUST look it up-it doesn’t help with understanding the story any better, it’s just an amazing song in my humble opinion. Have a lovely day :)

“Come on,” Debbie tugs Lou’s hand, leading her outside, into the sun and burning heat. “I have a surprise.”

Lou follows begrudgingly, not too fond of surprises in general,  but particularly not of ones from Debbie because they usually involved something illegal. She wouldn’t be surprised if the Mona Lisa was sitting in the parking lot outside the warehouse.

“Close your eyes,” Debbie orders, smiling wide as Lou closes them obediently, feeling Debbie come behind her to cover her eyelids with her hands. Her wedding ring is cold against Lou’s skin as Debbie moves them forward, around the corner of the warehouse. Debbie stops, turning Lou slightly so she’s facing where she assumes the surprise is and removes her hands, stepping away from the blonde, calling excitedly from a few feet away, “Okay, now open.”

Lou’s eyes open and the sight of Debbie leaning against that baby blue 1969 Plymouth Roadrunner convertible in a pair of cut off jeans and a white tank top is possibly the most nostalgic thing she’s ever seen. She can’t speak for a minute as she stares at Debbie’s magnificent smile, shining in the bright sun along with the freshly polished car.

“Is this the same-”

“Yes.” Debbie cuts her off, fingering over a scratch on the side mirror next to the driver’s seat, where they had scraped against a building in a quick getaway from the cops fifteen years ago.

“And you bought-”

“Uh-huh.”

“And now we own-”

“Exactly.” Her grin is so wide and so unbelievably proud that Lou doesn’t waste a second, her hand grabbing Debbie’s jaw and pulling her forward into a searing kiss. Debbie’s fingers pull at Lou’s belt loops, tugging her towards her until their hips touch and their tongues move against one another’s. She grabs Debbie’s ass, lifting her up and setting her on the blue hood, remembering the brunette leaning over it years ago, waxing and buffing it in every spare minute she had until the paint could shine in the dark. Debbie’s arms rest on Lou’s shoulders, hands clasped behind her head, as she wraps her nearly-bare legs around Lou’s leather-clad hips, pulling the Aussie forward until her knees touch the convertible.

Lou can remember without one false detail the first time this car came screeching into her life, Debbie driving like a maniac to outrun the cops but also give Lou a second to jump in with their stolen bags of jewels.

They’d been living in Detroit, planning on robbing a poorly-secured jewelry store to give them a head start when they moved to New York City. Lou got a job at a convenience store next to the shop, because they desperately needed money-they’d been living on the streets and in and out of cars for months-and it was the perfect way to get inside the jeweler; there was a door connecting the two stores.

Debbie planned to get a fast car for a quick getaway and shut down security while Lou nicked the jewels, grabbing as much as she could in the three minutes she had.

The morning of, she and Lou had snuck into a gym so they could shower and clean themselves up and she remembers Debbie’s half-naked, slender frame standing in front of the mirror as she said tiredly, as if reminding herself why she was doing this, “Leave tonight or live and die this way.”

Detroit was rough; the economy, the streets, the people, they all drug Lou and Debbie down with them until one night Debbie declared that she was fucking sick of it and they needed to move to New York City so they could start over. Anywhere was better than that run-down industrial town going nowhere. Neither wanted to live and die as homeless, low-level pickpockets, they both craved a change and wanted somewhere to go and for whatever reason, they felt like New York City was the place they could learn a thing or two about really living.

They’d run through the plan one last time in that expensive gym locker room before Lou finished the narrative of the heist with, “And then you get a fast car...do you _have_ a car?”

Debbie had nodded, smiling and shaking her wet hair out of her face as she patted Lou’s cheek and said, “Of course, baby, it’s a surprise.”

The moment Lou stepped outside of the jewelry shop and her eyes fell on that gorgeous, light blue convertible, Debbie’s hair flying wildly in the wind and confident smile shining behind the steering wheel in the late afternoon sun as police sirens sounded less than a block away, she knew she was _fucked_.

She hid her emotions well, however, as she jumped into the passenger seat, looking over the 1969 Plymouth Roadrunner as she stated with an approving smile, “You got a fast car.”

Debbie had laughed as she slammed her foot down on the gas pedal, racing against the law and into the future, away from Detroit and towards a life worth living.

They’d driven all night that night, through small towns in Ohio and vast Pennsylvanian fields along I-80. The radio had played the entire time, their hair whipping in the cool night air as Debbie sped down the highway so fast that Lou felt like they were flying, drunk on the thrill of having nearly a million dollars in jewels between the two of them.

New York City was a city full of chances, of opportunities to make something of yourself and Debbie wanted nothing more than to make her name into something. She was an Ocean and she felt the pressure to prove it after Danny’s MGM Grand stunt in Vegas. Her father-although she may despise the bastard-had instilled a self-destructive desire in her to get his approval with a brilliantly planned heist that could only be formulated by an ingenious Ocean mind and Debbie felt that New York City was the only place she could do it.

The hustle and bustle of those historic streets, paved with the blood, sweat, and tears of millions of someones wanting to become something makes you or breaks you and Lou remembers thinking in that moment, as the stars twinkled above them while they sped a hundred miles an hour down I-80, it didn’t matter. She had nothing to lose or to prove to anyone-she was starting at zero and Debbie was her plus one.

She didn’t have anyone left but Debbie; her biological parents were long dead, her impressively long list of foster parents didn’t care about what happened to the crazy little Louise Catherine Miller, and her friends had slowly dwindled down until she had no one but the brunette sitting to her left.

She remembers when they pulled over at a gas station half an hour south of Cleveland, Debbie must’ve thought she was asleep-or maybe she knew Lou was awake and wanted her to hear her say it-and she adjusted the coat Lou had been using as a blanket, kissing the crown of her head, promising, “We’ll get there, I swear, we’ll make something of this.”

And she specifically remembers feeling, six hours later as they looked at the city lights glowing in the distance while Debbie’s arm rested comfortably across her shoulders, that she finally belonged somewhere. She belonged at Debbie Ocean’s side, through thick and thin, because that incredible woman with her larger-than-life personality, infectious laugh, and unbelievable ability to charm anyone was one-of-a-kind. Debbie made her feel like someone important and that feeling was one Lou couldn’t get enough of.

At that moment, as Debbie’s hair trailed behind her radiant face in the wind and she looked so youthful and promising and utterly breathtaking, Lou had sworn to herself that if she was going to be someone, she was going to be Debra Ocean’s someone.

New York City had given them all sorts of triumphs, challenges, and failures in their fifteen years of living there, but that baby blue Roadrunner remained a constant and whenever Lou began to doubt their relationship, she remembered that night. Driving down the highway for ten hours under the stars, just her and Debbie and everything their future held, every dream she ever dreamt seeming possible as those wheels flew down the interstate.

That memory-that car-held them together even when they were broke, flat on their asses, right back where they started when they left Detroit. 

Debbie told her once that she chose blue because she knew it was Lou’s favorite color and she knew Lou would look great up against a blue convertible-instead of a sleek motorcycle for once-blonde hair down, blue eyes shining. And she did-they did. There was a picture of them Lou had kept from their first month in the Big Apple; they were parked at Coney Island, Debbie in a ripped pair of jeans, grey Detroit Lions tank, and flip flops, standing next to Lou, who was wearing black leather pants, a white Rolling Stones t-shirt, and two inch heels. Debbie was leaning against the car, large aviators covering most of her face except for that glowing smile, wavy brunette hair tied up in a ponytail and Lou stood to her left, hair loose and down to her shoulders, arms crossed as her head is thrown back in laughter, amused by something snarky Debbie had said right before the picture was snapped.

It was another reason Lou despised Claude Becker; Debbie had been forced to sell the car so she could afford a decent lawyer and wouldn’t be entirely defenseless in court. Lou had thought about it every now and then while Debbie was in jail, remembering cruising down Long Beach at sunset and making out like teenagers in empty parking lots and speeding down side streets to escape  cops and the feeling of smooth leather seats under her naked skin when Debbie had fucked her in the passenger seat one blistering Fourth of July.

Lou had spent five years trying to convince herself it was just an object, just a car that they held too close to their hearts, there was no reason to miss it like she missed Debbie, but she did. She had missed Debbie and her fast car, ready to speed off to wherever was safe with Lou by her side, blonde and brunette hair blowing in the wind as they left their pasts and troubles behind with a rev of the engine and the squealing of tires.

So now, as Debbie sits on the hood of the same convertible that felt like it had left them a lifetime ago, Lou can’t resist the urge to kiss her wife until she's unable breathe. They kiss like they’re twenty-five years old again, like it’s that night they arrived in New York City and Debbie’s mouth wouldn’t leave Lou’s when they got into a hotel, intoxicated off the feeling of arriving somewhere new and exciting to restart their lives.

Her thumb grazes Debbie’s smooth cheekbone, running under her eye as she pulls back, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Debbie’s mouth before matching her smile.

“We made it,” Debbie whispers, her lips still curved in a smile as she kisses her again and Lou thinks back to that night-that promise from Debbie at some dingy gas station-that silent oath Lou had made-and she holds her hips a little bit tighter. They’d started with nothing but each other in this unforgiving city of endless opportunity and built themselves and each other up until they had sixty-six million dollars to share between the two of them. The realization that yes, yes they had made it and they were everything they’d ever hoped they’d be, dawns on Lou for the first time since the heist’s completion and she feels drunk from the ecstasy of it all.

This moment feels better than when they were driving in Debbie’s fast car, flying down the highway with only the promise of a better future ahead of them. 


End file.
